The Last Victor
by meisterful
Summary: The demigods have too much power so the gods devise a plan to put them in their place The Demigod Games.Tributes are chosen from each cabin to fight to the death.Luke Castellan, victor starts a revolution planning to outsmart Gods and Titans alike.
1. Before

****This fic takes place when Percy and Annabeth are twelve. Luke is not the lightening Thief. This is happening instead.

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><p><strong>Before:<strong>

It was particularly cruel, he thought, that the gods would punish them in this way. Just like the gladiators, or so they'd been told; glory, riches, invincibility. But most of all, most importantly, they'd win their freedom. Luke knew the truth. He was there when it was decided. Wearing a borrowed hat and clutching a stolen sword, he heard. Everything. The demi-gods were becoming too powerful, too organised. The gods were becoming too dependent, delegating too much power. Luke heard. And Luke listened. And there was nothing he could do about it.


	2. During

**During: **

There are two of them left. Just him and her. Staring each other down, unsure of what to do. Of course it came down to him and Thalia. They had worked as a team through the whole ordeal. Together they had killed people they'd once called friends. Together they found food, and water, and survived. They hadn't thought about what would happen when they were the only ones left. Now, here they were, not just having to think about it, but having to face it.

She holds her shield in front of her and even though he's seen it a thousand times, it still sends chills through him. He points his sword at her, a warning. They both know how good he is with it. That maybe, even she doesn't stand a chance. Neither of them attacks. They stand like that for a long time.

Finally the gods intervene. Bored, he figures. Typical. A familiar voice booms overhead.

"If the two remaining tributes would commence the final battle so a victor may be crowned."

His father. Ever the loyal messenger.

He is better with a sword, but does he really have a shot at winning? Her father is the king of the gods of course. He hasn't heard any promises of fair treatment or a competition free from bias. Then again, even if Zeus is on Thalia's side, Hera will be on his. Hera has always hated her husbands' illegitimate children. He knows the leaders of the gods will not be the only ones taking sides.

As he and Thalia circle each other he wonders where the war gods will cast their votes. Especially, he wonders where Athena will cast her support. Both of them had saved her daughter, both of them had taken care of her. But it was him who had killed the sister who had volunteered in her place. Ares will side with whoever is more likely to start a war. Artemis will side with Thalia, as will probably Athena. Whoever Aphrodite sides with Hephaestus will side with the other. Mr D will want both of them dead, two less brats to look after at camp. Poseidon will support him; he had after all stolen those toiletries for the god's son. Hades might side with him, just to spite his brother. Then again Hades probably hasn't even been invited. He has no children to offer up as tribute. And then there is his father. He hadn't tried to stop the games. He hasn't lifted a finger to help through the whole thing. Luke steels himself. It does not matter if his father sides at all. He is just another kid from cabin eleven. The odds are not in his favour.

Finally, he advances first. Pushing Thalia back, his sword clashes against her shield. She parries, using it to shove him away. So much for family. So much for love.

"So this is how it's going to be." She hisses, their swords clanging again.

"I haven't got a choice!" He doesn't feel he does.

He manages to knock her off her feet, stabs her shield arm, rips his sword up it. Blood spurts everywhere, coating him, coating her. She cries out in pain, but scissors her legs, knocking him down beside her. He lands sharply on his shoulder, jolting it out of place against the edge of her shield.

"You've always had a choice." She puts her sword to his neck.

He rolls away, fast, but not fast enough. Her blade strikes a long cut down his face. Blood runs down his face, blurring his vision. He swings wildly once, a moment of panic before composing himself. He stares at her through the constant stream of blood falling down his face.

Her blue eyes are fierce, as electric as her father's master bolt and framed with dark makeup that even their weeks in the arena hasn't touched. Her black hair is cut harshly around her face, almost reaching her shoulders now. Blood is everywhere, hers, others, fresh crimson streaming and old brown crusting. The air around her seems to spark with her rage, with her power. She looks like hell. She looks beautiful. He hates himself for what he's going to do.

"I don't want to do this Thalia."

He advances again and their swords clash, parry, cut. He makes her bleed some more, her neck this time. It's not a mistake he misses major arteries. All the gods want is a good show after all. If there's any chance that there can be two victors. Maybe…

"Neither do I." He knows his odds have changed when he hears the slight crack in her voice.

She'd tired, he can see it now. Her moves are increasingly sloppy, uncoordinated, and more desperate. The tip of her sword is angled down; she has started to feel its weight. She's lost a lot of blood. He's made her loose a lot of blood. He sees an opening. He sees his chance.

"I'm sorry." He is. He really is.

His sword crosses the distance between them. His body swerves into hers almost as if to embrace her, but his sword is in the way, skewering her through her breastplate, cutting through her like she's just a training dummy stuffed with straw. He has taken his chance. He has made his choice. He regrets it as soon as it is too late. He wants to take it back the minute it is real and it has happened.

"I loved you." He whispers, unsure whether the gods or the demigods watching at camp can hear them. Unsure whether he wants them to hear.

She sputters blood and fixes him with a harsh glare. "Prove it."

He doesn't want to cry, but he does. He remembers to knock her sword from her hand and falls to his knees, still connected to her by his sword. He wants to hold her, but doesn't want to sever their connection, no matter how bloody, no matter how wrong. How has he done this? Why has he done this?

Thalia disintegrates with her final breath; her body turning to silvery dust carried up and away by a breeze he cannot feel. Gone like a monster. A divine insult. None of the other tributes' bodies went like this. His grip tightens on his sword and rage threatens to control him, but he is patient, he is cunning. Rage can wait. And Hermes has appeared as fast as Thalia disappeared. The messenger of the gods, the announcer of the games, his father, is beside him, holding his arm up in the air, declaring him Victor. Now is not the time for rage. He has lost his chance for rage, but revenge. Revenge is another thing entirely.

"Gods and goddesses, demigods and satyrs. May I present the Victor of the first Demigod Games, Luke Castellan Son of Hermes!"

A screen in the sky shows his final kill while the sound of amplified clapping surrounds him. Revenge is forgotten. The image in the sky will haunt him more than his memories. He will never be able to enjoy a cloudless sky again. Empty blue skies, blue like her eyes, like her domain, like the image of his sword slicing the life from her. He hears all the titles before they are said. Victor. Son of Hermes. Warrior. There is only one he refuses. He knows he is no hero.


	3. After 1

**After:**

He has put himself in this position he knows. A rag tag group of under trained demigods hiding in the woods. They are not safe. There are no more magic boundaries to protect them from monsters. There are plenty of monsters. There are no divine parents to send help. They could have used that help plenty of times. Most of the kids are twelve or thirteen. A few are older, but most are younger. Their numbers dwindle. They cannot survive on their own.

An offer has been made. A dark offer. A dangerous offer. He is willing to take it. He is going to take it. Annabeth has a plan. Grover is terrified. Clarisse is excited. Percy hates it all. They have no choice. If it works out, and Annabeth's plans always work out there will be a new age. New gods. Current will be defeated. Older will be gone. It is a dangerous game they are playing. Crossing the gods was easy. Crossing the Titans will not be.


End file.
